


Morning After

by juliettdelta



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Modern AU, background nuxable, more very unprofessional bartender slit, poor choices toast
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-04 12:35:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5334299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliettdelta/pseuds/juliettdelta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Pain. </i>
  <br/>
  <i>Pain and nausea and more pain.</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Toast blinks an eye open, wincing at the brightness. She's dying. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Disorientation

Pain. 

Pain and nausea and more pain.

Toast blinks an eye open, wincing at the brightness. She's dying. 

When she can concentrate enough to see her surroundings she notices that she has no idea where she is. This is troubling. There's a thin, stained blanket draped loosely over her, and her jacket is folded under her head as a pillow. She's lying on a sofa that squeaks loudly when she shifts. It's too short even for her, and her legs are cramping. She groans. What the fuck happened last night.

She's in some stranger's living room, she realises. It's cramped and incredibly untidy, clothes strewn on the floor and the coffee table littered with take out boxes and old beer bottles. There's a small window, but mercifully the drapes -which seem to be a pair of old pillow cases duct taped to the wall- are drawn to keep out the sun. She sees someone has put a glass of water and a pack of pain killers on the table, and a bucket next to the sofa. The last bit is a little insulting, but she can feel those tiny hands clawing at her guts so it's probably not the worst idea. 

There's the sound of someone moving around in the next room, and she can smell coffee. She's slightly terrified. She doesn't remember much from last night, not beyond the fifth shot. The loud music echoes in her already pounding head, and she struggles to sit up enough to take a couple of pills. She checks that the package isn't tampered with, but honestly, whoever brought her here has had their chance to do whatever they might want while she was out. She doesn't feel wrong, though, not like that. She hopes and prays nothing has happened.

She downs the glass of water, and spends the next few minutes staring fixedly at the corner of the table and concentrating on making the contents of her stomach stay put. She intends to get out of here as quickly as she can, but she's not sure she can even move right now. 

“Mornin',” a voice says, and she turns her head slowly and carefully.

There's a very very large man standing in the doorway holding two cups of coffee. One of them reads world's worst barista. Ominous. The man, who looks faintly familiar, has got a gigantic scar across his face, like a grotesque smile. There's pieces of metal embedded in it and she can't tell whether they serve some medical function or are some new trend in piercings. His face, combined with the all black clothes, the shaven head and the broad muscular frame makes him look pretty damn scary.

“Who are you?” Toast demands, scowling. “Where am I? Where's my fucking phone?”

“'M Slit. The bartender ya spent three hours explaining the intricacies of intersectional feminism to last night.”

She glares at him.

“An' you're in my flat. And your phone's just over there,” he gestures with a cup, “it's chargin'.”

“Why the fuck am I in your flat?”

He walks over, puts one of the cups down next to her and sits down on the armrest by her feet. The sofa is the only piece of furniture in the room, so she doesn't blame him too much.

“'Cause ya refused to go home with your mates last night. Friend of Capable's, yeah? Her boyfriend is my roommate. Nux?”

“Yeah, remember him.”

“Yeah, he was workin' later'n me, told me to take ya home after my shift. But my phone died on the way there and you weren't coherent enough to give directions. He texted Capable about it when he got back.”

Toast has to, against her judgement, admit that this sounds plausible. She looks at the man, at Slit, again. She can see the faded burning steering wheel tattooed on the back of his neck. The gang was brought down a year ago, but she still doesn't trust the former warboys. Violent pieces of shit, most of them, although Nux has turned out to be okay.

She sips her coffee, which despite the cups claim is pretty good. Makes her feel a tiny bit more human. She steals glances at Slit, fascinated by the decorative scars on his arms. They seem to be figurative, but she can't make out how. Not without staring more obviously, at any rate. Which she isn't going to.

She gets up, very carefully, and gets her phone. When she turns it on it floods with texts from her sisters, asking if she is okay. Dag has sent her a blurry photo where it looks like, Toast sees, she's trying to flirt with Slit. That is faintly mortifying. At least he's been nice enough to not mention it. She hopes none of them are horrible enough to post it to facebook. 

When she's sent her texts saying that's she's fine and that they're terrible traitors for leaving her and threatening them with her eternal hatred if any pictures get posted anywhere she sits back down on the sofa. Drinks some more of the now lukewarm coffee and reflects that this is pretty goddamned awkward.

“You're welcome to stay as long as ya need,” Slit says, downing his coffee and balancing the cup precariously on a small stack of them on the table.

Toast nods, not meeting his eyes. She pulls self consciously at the hem of her crop top, then puts the blanket over herself instead.

“Think I'm gonna need a few minutes,” she says.

“Okay,” he says. “You cool with some TV?”

He doesn't really wait for her answer, but that's fine. Flips to a channel that shows some car racing thing, and seems satisfied with this. 

“What's the wifi password?” 

“Slitisthegreatest. All one word.”

“I won a bet,” he adds, seeing her face.

“Aha.”

She searches for breathing techniques to stop herself throwing up. Then public transportation. A route home. It's a week day, and none of her sisters have time to pick her up, but the way seems easy enough. 

Slit follows her out to point her in the direction of the closest bus station, and lends her a pair of sunglasses that fit her horribly and look ridiculous. But they do help her headache, so she thanks him.

“And, uh, thank you. For… For taking care of me, even if in a slightly creepy way.”

“Any time,” he says, grinning, and wow, that is a mildly terrifying sight.

“Besides, your last three vodka shots were water, so I got tipped well enough to justify it.”

“Asshole.”

“Like you're not grateful.”

“Whatever.”

She _is_ grateful for that.

“I'll see ya next time you feel like a drink,” he says, and disappears back into the building.

“Not goddamn likely,” Toast mutters to herself, but when she finds the friend request from him when she gets home she accepts it.


	2. Third Tries

When he asks her out she says no.

She's not really comfortable going out with a guy who's seen her blind drunk and whose toilet she may or may not have thrown up in before knowing his name. That's just. That's just weird. And to be honest? She doesn't remember much about him. Can't remember if she thought he was hot, even, under those grotesque scars.

“Come on, give the guy a chance! Nux says he's lovely,” Capable encourages when Toast tells her about it.

Toast remains sceptical. She can't really picture Nux using that phrase, and anyway she doesn't really trust his judgement. The guy seems excited about literally everything, like some hyper puppy. Mostly it's about either cars or Capable, but he seems like the kind of person who could be enthusiastic about everything. So Toast doesn't trust his description of his roomie slash best friend.

“Nux loves everything, Cape. He gets excited when you give him a glass of water. The guy needs to chill.”

Capable pretends to be insulted on his behalf for exactly three seconds.

“I know,” she says.

“I love that about him.”

“I know you do, and that's great! It really is, but it doesn't make me trust his old warboy pals.”

–

The second time he asks her out she says yes. Partly this is because Capable has been asking her to because apparently it's really really important to both her and Nux. And hey, one date she can probably do, even if it might be horribly awkward.

“I said yes,” she tells Capable.

“Awesome! I'll talk to Nux, then.”

“What? Why? Are you guys planning some something?”

It turns out they're planning a double date. A double fucking date. Who even does that? If anything it'll be three times as awkward. Toast nearly imessages Slit to tell him it's off she's not fucking doing it no fucking way. But she stops herself from opening the app. Decides to look around on his profile a little instead. For research purposes. When he friended her she'd only glanced at his profile, just to see if there was anything obviously fucked up about him. She looks closer now.

His current picture is a badly framed selfie in which he looks both smug and angry. There's no context. Going back she sees he had his mugshot as the profile for a while, and really that should tell her all she needs to know. On his wall is mostly links Nux sends him, videos about something to do with cars. Toast scrolls past that, uninterested. There are surprisingly many pictures of giant lizards, both from Nux with messages like “Slit!!!! Loook!!!!! :'DD” and posted by himself, with less clear explanations like “yes” and “fuckign badass motherfuckker”. So that's all mildly worrying.

“That's why we chose bowling!” Capable explains.

As if bowling ever was a satisfactory explanation to anything. As if there was ever any justification for goddamn bowling.

“It's the most relaxed date you could ask for!” she enthuses further. “There's no pressure for anything to be romantic at all! You don't have to get dressed up, because everyone looks awful. There's no alcohol, so you don't need to worry about waking up at their place not knowing where you are, and you can just get to, you know, know each other. And no awkward silences, because Nux and I will be there.”

Capable beams as if she's solved all problems Toast could possibly have.

“But we'll be _bowling_ ,” Toast counters.

“Yeah?”

“Bowling's awful.”

“I know, but it's not about the bowling, haven't you been listening?”

Toast sighs, slumps back in her chair.

“Fine, fine. We'll _bowl_. Happy?”

“Ecstatic!”

–

“This is horrible.”

“Whaaa- No you look great,” Capable says, but it's clear she doesn't really mean it.

“Not what I was talking about,” Toast says, eyes narrowed and tone flat.

“Oh. Sorry. What's horrible, then?

“Everything. Date. My hair. Recent socio-economic developments. Bowling.”

Capable laughs, and continues forcing her unruly post shower hair into thick braids. It looks wonderful. Or it's going to, anyway. Capable always looks wonderful. Easily wonderful, like her personality radiates beauty and sunshine, even when she's not happy. She is most of time now, though. Which is the best, the goddamn best, and Toast is so happy for her. But. But. She can't do that. She doesn't radiate happiness. She radiates mild annoyance at best. Often that's how she likes it, but not today.

“Maybe consider some other jeans?” 

Capable's suggestion is carefully voiced. But when Toast looks at herself in the mirror, slouchy holey jeans and an oversized plaid shirt over a too thin loose white t-shirt, those aren't the problem. The problem is that Toast looks like she doesn't want to be there. Which is partly true.

“The jeans are fine,” she mutters.

It's the whole idea of dating that's bothering her, really. Dating. Something normal people who haven't been through what she and her sister have do. Something people who believe that other people are probably good people do. Something people do when they don't spend more than six months flinching when any man comes closer than a few feet. When they don't spend so much time and energy trying to be angry at the world because that's much easier than admitting you're still scared.

“Hey,” Capable says, soft hand on Toast's shoulder.

“It'll be fine. Fun, even! I promise.”

Toast can hear the sweet smile on her voice. She takes a deep breath. Maybe Capable's choice of bowling was a good plan. It sounds safe, if nothing else.

–

The bowling alley is brightly lit and smells bad, of feet and sweat and sugary drinks peddled to the pack of screaming children two lanes down. The music that's playing is practically antiquated; five year old top twenty hits screeching at them through layers of irrelevance. Capable was right. It's the furthest from romantic things can get.

Toast and Capable sit around waiting for the guys for a little while, drinking coke. Toast feels out of place here. The bright fake cheeriness feels weird. Although it might be the smell and the sugar getting to her.

“Car troubles,” Capable says, thumbing through her phone, “they'll be here in ten minutes and Nux says he's sorry and th- Well. He says he's sorry.”

She blushes at the last bit. Toast rolls her eyes and makes a disgusted face, more out of habit than anything else. She sips her drink and looks around. Glares daggers at a guy who's staring at her and Capable. Creep. Opens her phone again to find a text from Dag, wishing her good luck followed by a paragraph of emojis Toast doesn't feel like interpreting. 

Capable nudges her when the guys walk in. And fine. Toast hasn't seen Slit outside of low quality pictures since that night, but he looks pretty good. All broad shoulders and sharp jaw and nice arms. He and Nux are both dressed in black jeans and dark t-shirts, which is slightly chilling. Only the leather jacket away from the warboy uniform. But with the logo branded on the backs of their necks it's probably limited how far from it they get either way. Slit's shirt has an angry lizard on it, though. Which makes him look considerably less intimidating. She wonders what his thing with the reptiles is.

“Hey,” he says, as they come over.

Nux practically lunges at Capable, and they try their best to meld into one. Slit and Toast roll their eyes in near perfect unison at their friends.

“Hi.”

Actually, this close, his face is pretty nice. Sharp angles and dark narrow eyes and a really nice jaw. She tries not to study his face too obviously, but she's pretty sure he catches her.

“As handsome as you remember?” he asks with a smug grin.

She shrugs dismissively. He doesn't seem to mind.

“You look good,” he offers.

“I know.”

She checks his reaction out of the corner of her eye, pretending to sip her soda. He beams at her (quite literally as well, the too bright overhead lights catching on the metal embedded in his face). Good. Essential douchebag test passed. 

Capable and Nux disentangle themselves, and they all head over to the lane.

“Come on Scarface, you're on my team,” Toast says.

Slit makes an insulted noise.

“Hot Scarface?” she tries.

“I will accept Hot Scarface.”

“Okay. Good. C'mon Hot Scarface, let's beat those bastards.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm debating whether to make their scarifications tattoos in this modern au. That is literally the only piece of backstory I have spent any time researching or planning. Well. That and Toast's hair. The important bits, as you can tell.   
> [That awesome Slit blog](http://botchedbris.tumblr.com/) has served as important inspiration for this chapter.


	3. Play it Louder Motherfucker

Their second date isn't really a date. Not according to Toast, anyway. Slit texts her one afternoon to say a mate of his is playing at the bar that evening. Asks if she wants to hang there while he works. Promises free vodka shots with several winky face smileys. She pretends not to notice the last bit. The mate is apparently some halfway famous musician he used to hang with. She doesn't have anything better to do, though, so she replies.

Toast: u gonna b working though?  
Slit: ye?  
Toast: so u want me to sitt there alone?  
Slit: but there's good music?  
Toast: …  
Toast: I'm coming but I'm bringing a friendd  
Slit: k

She makes less of an effort to look good this time. That is, she spends less time on trying to look like she doesn't give a shit. She just doesn't. Her outfit is remains much the same. Her hair too. She hasn't done anything with her hair except maintain the messy cut in a year. Hasn't been able to.

“You meeting him again, then?”

It's Dag, popping her head into Toast's room.

“Yeah.”

“Like him, yeah?”

Toast shrugs. Tries not to give anything away. She thinks she does, actually. The bowling had been surprisingly nice. They'd gotten yelled at by an employee for cursing a little too enthusiastically near children. They discovered that they had competitiveness in common. Capable and Nux had still won, though, because the in-team competitiveness had, tragically, been too great. Yeah. She likes the scar-y scary dude.

“Enough,” she tells Dag, but the pause and her face gives her away, because Dag smiles.

“Happy for ya. Hope you have a good time.”

“Thanks.”

“Don't drink too much.”

“Piss off.”

“Hey, I gotta get involved in your love lives, mine's all dead and gone.”

“Doesn't Cheedo still have a crush on you?”

Dag rolls her eyes, but fondly.

“Yeah. But she's sixteen. And _Cheedo_. Doesn't count.”

“We'll find you a prince or princess in shining armour one day,” Toast promises, “but I've got to go.”

“Promises, promises...”

“But hey, listen, Slit wants me to go to this concert at his bar, but he's working, so, wanna come along? Music's supposed to be good. Don't know if it's your kinda sound, though.”

Dag shrugs.

“Sure.”

–

The bar is nearly empty when they get there. It's early yet, and technicians are setting up the stage. The lights are on. The proper lights, not the brightly coloured blinking neon ones. She's not used to seeing places like this so clearly, it's a little unsettling. Like a movie set before the actors show up.

“The floor's not even sticky yet,” Dag marvels. 

“Amazing.”

There's soft music streaming from some speakers, some vague indie sound. The bar's technically been open for about an hour, but there's only a couple people huddled round a table in a corner nursing their beers. Slit's leaning on the bar, texting, hasn't noticed them yet.

“Aren't you supposed to be like, cleaning a glass with a towel or something?” Toast asks, approaching.

“That's a cruel stereotype,” he says, grinning, and gestures behind him, “there's a machine. Glad ya could make it.”

–

The bar fills up pretty quick. Whoever the musician is, Slit's mate, he must be popular. She can't imagine it's usually like this on early Wednesday evening. She sips her drink. Slit actually put effort into making it right for her, trio of brightly coloured umbrellas and all, which is nice, because she saw him shrugging and picking booze at random for someone else not two minutes ago. 

He comes over to where she and Dag are sitting as often as he can, but he keeps having to deal with customers. He does so quickly and grumpily, as if blaming them for keeping him from talking to her. She doesn't understand how he thought this wasn't exactly what was going to happen, but, she shrugs to herself, _guys_. 

The lights have dimmed, and though the neon ones, or whatever it's going to be for the show aren't on, the bar atmosphere is back. Voices loud enough to making talking to anyone more than a foot away difficult, and the speakers blaring something louder than is needed. She watches Slit, watches the way he moves. There's some strange brutish elegance to it, some large predator grace. It's appealing. It disappears, almost, when he comes over to talk to her. 

When the concert starts he gets reinforcements, and consequently refuses to move for customers further away. Flashes them terrifying threatening looks when they shout impatiently. It's pretty effective, and it's impressive how that danger melts away completely when he's focused on her. Flattering too, she supposes. But she's not going to forget that it comes back the second someone bothers him enough. Not going to forget that it's there beneath the surface.

She looks over to the scene and there's a guy. She's pretty sure he wasn't there before, but no one seems to have noticed him. He's cradling a guitar in his lap, sat on a stool. Dressed in clashing colours and with a dark beanie pulled down low over his head. Maybe he dislikes the blinking lights. She doesn't blame him. 

Toast nudges Dag and nods in the direction of the guy.

“I think that's him.”

There's a look in Dag's eyes when she notices him that Toast doesn't quite understand. Some strange longing. If she didn't know better she'd say it was some kind of love at first sight. But that's ridiculous. 

She asks Slit for two more drinks for them with crude sign language over the speaker music. The conversation quietens to a low murmur as a spotlight comes on over the guitarist. Given the rest of the lights there it doesn't really make much of a difference, but everyone's looking at him now. If he notices he doesn't look up. 

The crowd mutters in reaction for a few moments. Dag is watching the guy with rapt attention, doesn't even notice the beer Slit sets down by her. Toast, catching his eye, raises an eyebrow.

“Just wait,” he promises in a loud whisper, “Coma's the shit.”

The guy hasn't moved yet, but calling him comatose seems a little mean, she thinks.

There's a note, surprisingly loud, from the guitar. A single tone, cutting through the room, silencing the last of the chatter. The guy's still not looking up at the public, although all she can see of his face is his beanie and hints of dark curls escaping from under it. 

“I'm Coma.”

Oh.

“I'm- it's weird to be here, I- I'm-”

His voice is soft, barely audible even as he leans towards the microphone. He pauses, opens his mouth as if to say something more, then seems to think better of it. He starts to play.

It's softer, somehow, than she expected. Both languid and pleading. A strain of some desperation. Being at the back of the venue, by the bar, she can't see his face is much detail, but he looks strained. With pressure or playing or emotion she can't tell. Perhaps all three.

She doesn't catch the lyrics, not really, but it seems good. Not her genre, but good. A glance over at Dag confirms this. She's moving where she sits, long white blonde hair swaying as if in some impossible breeze. She looks like she's intensely into whatever this is, whoever it is. Toast can tell she wants to make her way to the front, to see this Coma guy up close. Her fingers make quick little gestures in the air, graceful evocations or reactions of some sort.

“Go,” Toast whispers in her ear when the first song ends, mournful guitar fading away.

Dag squeezes her hand in Toast's, and leaves, drink in hand, looking like she wishes she had a lighter to wave. Toast sips her beer. A new song begins, something warmer, less melancholy. Something with a glimmer of hope. 

A guy eyes Dag's vacated seat longingly, but Toast snarls at him. It's not really audible over the music, but he seems to get the idea. Looking back over the bar she catches Slit staring her. Looks a little lovestruck, almost, so she smirks at him. He smirks right back, tilts his head so the bright neon turquoise light sparkles in the staples in his face. No shyness there. She can respect that.

And it is, somehow, charming the way he completely ignores his customers, even as they try to shout above the music, mercifully failing. Which is exactly the kind of asshole trait she shouldn't appreciate, but she can't help herself, not tonight. Not when he finds little ways to brush his fingers against hers. Not when he, despite very clearly loving Coma's music, lets himself be distracted by her throughout the entire set.

After Coma finishes, murmurs a soft thanks for their collective attention, and disappears from view, Dag returns. She's cloudy, floating, in a daze of musical enchantment. She gets like this, sometimes, discovering some new band. Convinced they are the herald of a new era of music, their songs gifts from the muses. It's not usually this intense, though. Or this quick.

“Dag!”

Toast has to say it three times before her eyes focus. Toast can't quite help her fond smile. Dag's immersion into music is intense, passionate. More so than Toast's could ever be. She knows Dag pities her this, but she doesn't mind. Music's just pleasant noises in your head. Nice while it's there, but sometimes the quiet's good too.

“Enjoy yourself?”

“Oh yes,” she says, a little breathless.

Her hands flutter restlessly at her sides, bracelets clanking together softly. Her eyes are shiny in the lights.

“Want me to ask Slit to introduce you?”

She thought she'd spoken softly, but Slit leans across the bar next to her.

She can't help but notice how very large his arms are. That his hands are twice the size of hers. She files this information away for later use.

“No need,” he says.

“I'm givin' him a lift when my shift's over. Told 'im he could hang out back here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello yes I have recently re-realised that iOTA is the greatest human being. A ray of pure rocking sunshine.  
> And Coma is the sweetest most perfect human too.  
> Like 80% of the inspiration credit goes to ao3 user Valkyrien whose new fic _We The Future_ you should all read because it's awesome <3 All of it's awesome.


	4. Come Down

Slit nods towards some point in the crowd. Dag strains to see, to gaze again upon this wondrous man, whose music, she feels sure, is a gift from universe. The songs spin in her head, around each other, sounds sparkling before melting into one another, nebulously beautiful. 

Her head is spinning, but in the best way. Sound doesn't get through, is all just static for how can these noises compare to what she has just heard? Can anything ever be the same? This revelation has changed everything. Toast does not seem to agree, though, handing her a glass of water, but who can drink at a time like this who can care about such worldly things when there is music, when they are getting to see the source of it. 

The lights blink purple and blue, sparkling like the stars above, and after what feels like an eternity or a millisecond he is there before her in his glory. Although she got as close to the scene as she could, she didn't notice _him_ before, not really. There wasn't time, there wasn't space in her mind.

He shuffles to the bar, feeling his way, like he's navigating a familiar room in the dark. Which, she realises, he is. He's pushed his worn beanie up, and he doesn't appear to have any eyes. That doesn't stop it from feeling like he's looking at her, though, like he's staring into her soul and knowing her deeply before she even has the chance to say hello.

“Coma, mate, that set was great!” Slit exclaims, coming out from behind the bar accompanied by the shouted complaints from the customers. 

He's grinning, claps Coma hard on the back. And Coma, the name somehow explaining him perfectly, summing him up in the same way his music had, he looks a little amused, but smiles at Slit anyway, revealing a mouth of jagged, uneven teeth. He has nice lips, she thinks, soft looking and pale with a few freckles.

“Listen, these are the girls. Mentioned 'em, yeah? Mates of Cape, Nux's girl.”

Toast squints at Slit's phrasing, but lets it go. Slit doesn't seem to notice. Coma looks up at them, or at least, turns his head to face them in turn, missing the direction only with an inch or two. Black curls bounce around his face, and she finds herself wanting to brush them away.

“Nice to meet you,” he says.

His voice is soft when he speaks, calm and controlled, so different from the emotion when he sang. She could listen to that voice forever, she thinks, whatever it tells her will be profound prophesies and truths. Toast introduces them both because Dag isn't sure she can do such arduous work as forming words yet. Not sure she can do anything but-

“What did you think?” 

He doesn't seem to be asking for praise, no, it's genuine curiosity. No shyness, either, nor overconfidence. 

“Very cool,” Toast says, but without satisfactory enthusiasm.

“Magnificent,” Dag says, and watches his mouth twitch into a small smile.

“So beautiful, transcendent. Never heard anything like it.”

Toast rolls her eyes, but Coma looks pleased and Slit looks proud. He leans down and whispers something in Coma's ear, and Coma turns toward him, smile widening just a tiny bit. 

–

Toast is bored. And frustrated. And look. It's great Dag and this Coma guy are getting on, it really is. They haven't stopped talking for the last two hours, chairs have been inched closer, voices have been lowered and Toast feels reasonably sure numbers have been exchanged, but Slit keeps having to work and Toast's phone ran out of battery ten minutes ago and this is awkward. She doesn't want to feel like a third wheel at what was supposed to be _her_ date.

She knows she's not being fair. Dag and Coma have obviously clicked, and it was kind of cute in the beginning. And Dag hasn't been in any sort of relationship, since, well. For as long as Toast, anyway, so she deserves every ounce of happiness in the known universe. It just would be nice if Toast could be hanging out with Slit in the meantime. Maybe this was his plan all along. To make her want him by being unavailable. She's reasonably sure she's seen sleazy dudes talking about stuff like this online. It doesn't seem too likely, though, because sometimes when she looks at the bar she sees Slit staring at her with something that could maybe be described as longing whilst pouring the badly mixed drinks. She's gotta talk to him about date planning, because this is ridiculous.

She rests her face in her hands and watches Dag and Coma for a while. They're talking about music, something far too technical for her to follow, so she just looks. There's something fascinating about the complete lack of eyes, some vaguely grotesque quality that compels Toast to stare. But he's not ugly, no, just. Fascinatingly strange. Dag is also too busy looking lovingly into his empty eye sockets to notice Toast staring, though, so she gets away with it, although she feels a bit guilty. She wonders how Slit knows this guy. He does absolutely not look as someone who would be in a gang. Seems far to sweet and quiet and soft spoken. 

It's another twenty minutes before the crowd is relaxed enough that Slit drifts over to her again.

“Having fun?” he asks, but there's an apologetic tone to his voice.

“Bit lonely,” she admits. “Don't happen to have a charger I could borrow? Looking pointedly at my phone works less well when it's off.”

He winces.

“'M sorry. Didn't think it'd be this busy tonight.”

“You said Coma's famous, though? Wasn't this what you expected?”

“I might,” he says, not meeting her eye, “have said that to convince you to come. But he is! Sort of. Online. He's not done so much live music. But he's great, yeah? His music's great and he's the sweetest guy an' I thought getting' him some real world exposure would be nice.”

“Hence playing Wednesday night.”

“Yeah. But I'm sorry these awful people keep needin' me to hand 'em vodka. Feel like giving me a second chance at planning somethin' better sometime?”

Toast pauses long enough for him to look nervous.

“Sure. But no bars this time, maybe? And definitely not this one.”

“No bars,” he promises with a grin. “I'm done being behind bars.”

She groans at the joke, and he looks immensely self satisfied. 

“That's almost bad enough to make me reconsider,” she tells him, and his eyes widen.

“Almost.”

She slumps back in her chair.

“Get me another beer?” she asks, as nicely as she can.

“Course.”

–

They leave not much later, as the bar nears closing and Slit leaves the clean up work to his colleague. 

“How the hell are you still employed?” Toast wonders as they wander to his car.

“Are you implying I'm not a fucking excellent bartender?”

“Owner's scared of him,” Coma clarifies.

“He's not _scared_ , piss off. He just. Has a healthy respect for my continuing need to have a paying job.”

Toast narrows her eyes and glares up at him.

“Are you- Are you threatening him if he doesn't keep paying you?”

Slit tries to look shocked and offended, but it comes of as more of a slightly less smug. Toast rolls her eyes, but accepts his denial. Given the way he looks and the gang tattoo on the back of his neck she doesn't find it hard to believe anyone's scared of him however nice he's being. But he does seem genuinely pretty nice. At least to her. And Coma and Dag and probably Nux and by extension probably Capable. Not so much if you're a customer, but Toast works in a shop and she is perfectly aware of how awful customers are in every way, and those are mostly not even drunk. So she's going to give him a pass on that.

They get into a car that doesn't seem to belong to Slit, given the way he complains about it, and Toast gets into the front seat because Dag is whispering in Coma's ear and honestly they've known each other for an entire three hours, what even is that? But then Dag is better at connecting than Toast, she knows this. Still, it's not something she wants to sit next to. 

They drop of Coma first, and Dag steps out of the car with him and whisper things into his curls for several minutes. Toast doesn't pointedly cross her arms and sigh because she's an adult and she loves Dag and wants her to be happy, but she's pretty tempted. Slit looks vaguely extatic.

“What?” she demands.

“Just happy they seem to be getting on,” he says. “Coma's been alone for… For a while. Deserves someone who's as ridiculously into him as your sis seems to be.”

“She does seem slightly more intense than usual,” Toast agrees. “so I think it's going well for them. Glad _someone_ had a good date tonight.”

“The next one'll be great, I promise. Got an idea, and I'll text ya next week, yeah?”

“Can't wait,” she tells him, as unenthusiastically as she can.

“Ya know, you're not as good a liar as you think you are.”

“Fuck off,” she suggests.

And she might have continued insulting him if Dag didn't choose that particular moment to hop back into the back seat. 

“Glad one of you appreciates my mate,” Slit says pointedly.

Dag hums in agreement, still apparently not quite present, and stares out the window and up at the stars as they drive. Toast feels a little resentful, and a lot bad that she feels resentful. She also, however, feels that her resentment is righteous and good. Confused. Confused is what she feels.

When they get to their place Slit gets out to the car and walks them to the front door, which is sort of charming. Dag waves a distant goodbye and a thanks and disappears inside and Toast and Slit are alone for the first time that night. The moonlight reflects off the metal in his face and ears, but she can't see his eyes properly. 

“'M really glad you came tonight,” he tells her.

She sighs.

“I'm glad I came too,” she admits.

“I'll text you,” he promises, and bends down and presses a kiss to her cheek before she can quite process what's happening.

She doesn't mind. And as she tells him goodbye and watches him walk back to his car she decides that maybe she's quite looking forward to next week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sidenote I do not in any way endorse a description of Coma as grotesque or not adorable in any way.  
> Also thank you to Valkyrien for holding my hand through trying to write Dag which for some reason is terrifying and incredibly hard for me. I am not worthy of Dag's grace & beauty and cannot understand it.  
> Also sorry it's been like three weeks I'm working on a thing


	5. Quiet music

Slit knocks on the door briefly, to let Coma know he's coming, and lets himself in. Flicks the light switch, but it doesn't respond. Maybe he forgot to turn it off last time he was here, or Coma bumped into it and didn't notice. But it's afternoon still, and cold light filters through the small windows, so that's okay. 

“Hey,” he calls.

He can hear music playing, so Coma's probably working. Wanders further into the flat, which is as strangely tidy as ever. He supposes it's easier to trip over your stuff when you can't see it, so probably it's a good call. Knocks on the door to Coma's studio, louder this time, and trusts that the change in music means come in.

“Hey,” he says again.

“Slit?”

“Always.”

Slit slumps down on the battered sofa in the corner as Coma switches off his equipment. The little LEDs blink out one after one, and the quiet settles. 

“Get you anything?” Coma asks.

“Nah, I'm good. Just here to see how you're doin', mate.”

Coma sits on the opposite end of the sofa, a hand lingering of the acoustic guitar leaned up against the wall. Lifts it gently up and into his lap and strums softly.

“You know, I'm fine. Don't need to check up on me Slit.”

Coma has this way of looking right into your soul without even turning his empty eye sockets to you. It feels, as always, both comfortingly familiar and slightly unsettling. Slit sighs.

“Want to, though. An' anyway, wanted to talk.”

“What about?” Coma asks, but the music changes and Slit senses that he knows.

“Night before last. Sort of. An' next week. Need your advice, mate.”

“On what?”

“Tryin' to plan somethin' better with Toast.”

“And you're asking me because...”

Slit leans his head against the wall and lets out a deep breath. 

“Nux only ever suggests drivin' out into the desert and lookin' at the stars.”

Coma hums in tune with his playing. And Slit knows what he means.

“Not anythin' wrong with it, just he's done it with Capable so much, Toast's probably sick of hearing about it, let alone doing it.”

“And you want me to say your idea is the most romantic thing anyone's ever heard of.”

Slit shrugs and nods, then adds

“That's the idea.”

Coma laughs, soft and musical, like everything he is.

“And how often has that date worked out for you?”

“Once,” Slit admits.

“It was nice,” Coma agrees.

Slit closes his eyes and listens to the music for a little while. It's not familiar, something new, maybe. It's nice, because everything Coma writes is and Slit keeps wondering if maybe, if things hadn't happened the way they did years ago. But they did, and now there's Toast and there's Dag and- And yeah. This is good too.

“She likes you,” Coma informs him.

“Course she does,” Slit agrees, “I'm great.”

Coma turns his face to him, curls bouncing and framing his face just right against the blue gray light spilling through the windows and Slit wants to paint him or take a photograph or just- Yeah. He fishes his phone from his pocket, slides it to silent and tells Coma not to move for a second. Snaps a picture, then another because his hand shook. Good. Nice values.

Coma tilts his head in question.

“Nothin',” Slit says, “you were agreeing that I was great?”

And Coma does his little half smile and nods.

“Dag mentioned it,” he tells Slit, and okay, Slit shuffling closer to Coma, looking at him expectantly as if that could have any effect, it's not exactly dignified or graceful, but this is important.

“Yeah?”

Coma looks amused, the bastard, and his guitar sings out long notes as Slit suppresses noises of frustrated impatience.

“Tells me Toast talks about you. Complains, sometimes, but praises too. Demands that you, and I quote, better step up your fucking dating game, those muscles aren't enough to carry a relationship.”

What Slit takes away from this is that Toast likes his muscles. Which, of course she does. They're pretty great. Also that she sees a relationship, which is pretty great too. Nice.

“Do what you think is right, Slit.”

The guitar sounds almost mournful, and Slit rolls his eyes because really, Coma, really? But he doesn't take it further.

“You been talkin' to Dag then? Met up again?”

“Just texts,” Coma says, and Slit can hear he wants there to be more, wants there to be a sweet music not only of his own making.

“But you want to, yeah?”

Coma nods, mouth almost twitching into a smile.

“You're gonna, mate, that girl's crazy 'bout you. Spent the whole night staring at you like you're magic. That shit is gonna happen, it's gonna be great for you, she's gonna be great for you.”

“I think so,” Coma agrees, smiling for real now, light glinting off the silver ring in his lip. 

“Deserve someone who appreciates you.”

“Slit.”

“I know, I know. But I'm gonna ask Toast to nudge her, maybe subtly suggest that she takes you out on fantastic dates or whatever.”

“I know your subtle.”

“Just tryin' to help.”

“I know. And thanks.”

“Any time. And hey, thanks for the advice.”

“For telling you what you want to hear, you mean?”

“Exactly! This is why you're better for advice than Nux. He keeps having opinions.”

Coma smiles at that, and Slit thinks that he's pretty damn lucky he's friends with this guy.

“'M gonna hug ya now, case you wanna put down your guitar.”

Which Coma does and Slit shuffles across the last inches of sofa and throws his arms around him and gets a face full of curls.

“Gotta go now, gotta finish plannin' how to win Toast's small angry heart, but I will have her or have Nux have Cape talk to her and explain that you're the love of her life, yeah?”

“I think it'll be fine even if you don't,” Coma says with a hint of hope in his voice but Slit isn't having any of that.

“I know. But I'm gonna anyway. Looking forward to the new song, mate.”

“It's about friends with no boundaries.”

“Love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was gonna be longer but it didn't really go with the rest of the chapter, so. Between chapter interlude feat Coma & Slit, I guess.


	6. Birth of Serpents

“Ah,” Toast says to herself as she steps off the bus and spots the sign on the other side of the road.

She's not sure what she expected the date to be, but somehow she didn't expect this. She feels like she should have, though. 

The sign announces that it's a reptile house, in letters all made of neon snakes, and it looks shady and cheesy all at once. She spots Slit leaning against a wall, texting, apparently not having seen her, and hurries over.

“Hey.”

“Toast! Hi!”

He seems so excited to see her that she bites back her sarcastic comment and just smiles. The sun glints off the metal in his face and he's wearing a poorly designed Godzilla t-shirt and she realises she's a little bit in love. This doesn't bother her, not right now.

The receptionist looks mildly alarmed when they walk in, and Toast doesn't know whether it's because of how Slit looks or because she recognizes him from earlier visits. Toast decides not to ask.

The air inside is thick, slightly unpleasant, but it's okay, because Slit coos at the lizards like a normal person with the tiniest of puppies, and that's pretty cute. Pretty charming. She doesn't quite see the appeal herself. Something about the languidness, the scales, it's not her thing. But she likes how much he loves them.

They stop outside the room with the heating lamps where the snakes get born. There's a tank with a large thing Toast thinks might be a python of some sort just a few metres away, and Toast's eyes keep darting back to it. She can't really process what Slit is saying, something about bearded dragons, which she didn't know were a thing that existed, but those eyes, weirdly round and placid in this long scaly thing that looks like it could kill her despite the rounded puppy mouth and too many nostrils keep drawing her back.

“And- What're you lookin' at? Oh. Oh yeah, she's pretty, yeah? Look at those patterns. Beautiful.”

Slit walks over to the tank, and Toast follows despite herself, because this place, it's almost like that natural history museum she was dragged into once. She'd gotten lost in a corridor and suddenly she was in a room alone, all dimly lit with the huge dead animals surrounding her, eyes glinting. And she'd known they weren't alive, that their gleaming eyes were marbles and their insides nothing but sand and wire, but she had still been scared. Still expected them to move whenever she looked away. Only, in this place the animals are alive. Granted most are small and they're all safe in their tanks, but it's still unsettling. She still wants to keep close to Slit. Not for protection as much as someone to hide behind.

“Want to take ya home with me,” Slit murmurs to the snake, and Toast is left wondering again who the date is really with.

She's going to have to plan the next one, she decides. Something with just the two of them, no friends or bar patrons or long scaly potential murderers. Yeah. 

There's no one else in the place, no visitors. Maybe because it's early afternoon on a weekday, maybe because no one else is as absurdly excited about lizards as Slit. The result, at any rate, is that she's left with this weird isolated feeling in here, teeming as it is with creepy crawling things. Perhaps Slit picks up on it, because he leads her over to a different, smaller tank.

“Looks at these little guys,” he says, voice as full of excitement as ever, “aren't they the cutest things you've ever seen?”

They are not, but she can see his point. They're geckos, smallish and all round shapes. Fat tails and huge friendly eyes, seemingly quite docile. She leans closer to the glass, fascinated by the variety of patterns and colours. One of them, a yellowy orange spotted one (a leopard gecko, Slit supplies,) pads up to the edge of the tank, looking at them with wide shining eyes, and okay. Toast is willing to admit that this thing is probably as close as you get to a reptilian puppy.

“Those are pretty cute,” she agrees, turning to him.

And she didn't realise he was standing so close, because suddenly they're face to- well, not face to face as much as face to chest. Nicely muscular chest. Only an inch of two of space between them and she looks up at him and that is quite a nice face to look up into.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks in a voice so soft she barely hears it.

She nods without thinking, and a large hand cups her face and although she stands on the tips of her toes he still has to bend down but that's not important because their lips meet and it's soft and sweet and Good. She deepens the kiss, running her tongue across his lips till they part, and her fingers curl in his dumb monster t-shirt and there's a hand at the small of her back pulling her closer and that too is Good, but ruins the angle, he's too goddamn tall, and they break apart.

“That was nice,” she says and god, what a dumb fucking thing to say, but he's just smiling and nodding and stepping back slightly so she doesn't have to crane her neck so painfully to look up at him.

“Better not get more into it,” he says, “or we'll ruin these babies' innocence.”

She squints at the little info plaque and it does say they're of breeding age but she's not going to argue his point. 

“I-” he begins, then falters, pretending distraction by small gecko.

“I realise this isn't really your thing, but I… I don't know.”

“It's fine,” she assures him.

“The gecko's are cute and that, uh, yeah, that was a good kiss. You could do worse.”

“And have,” he says.

She shrugs.

“Let me come up with something for next time?” she suggests.

–

They wind up at a café afterwards, some weird vegan coffee shop called the Green Place, just next to the reptile house. The milk in Toast's cappuccino tastes a bit weird, but it's nice and they sit squinting in the overly bright sunlight outside. They're side by side and that suits Toast fine, because whenever she looks at him she gets this sudden _feeling_ which frankly she could do without. She realises this is how liking people works, she knows, but she wishes she could control it a little more. Slit isn't the kind of person she intended to fall for, but clearly it's too late and she is doomed.

“An' I really wanted a monitor, y'know, but Nux vetoed it. Something 'bout bein' worried 'bout me taking good enough care of it. Fucking bullshit.”

And if Toast sighs in relief, he doesn't notice.

“That bastard,” she agrees with half hearted sympathy.

“Piece of fuckin' shit,” Slit says, part frustrated and part fond.

“You two have known each other forever, right?”

He nods. 

“Grew up together. He's like a brother. A younger and sometimes annoying one, but still.”

“Because warboys, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He doesn't elaborate, and she's not sure if it's because he doesn't want her to think of him as one any more. After all, it's been a year since he and Nux defected, since the whole thing fell apart. And Nux dating Capable for more or less that whole time must have made him pick up a little on things not to bring up. Must have gotten some background info on Toast and the others via Nux. She's got to ask Capable how much she's said, how specific she's been. But going by how Nux and Capable are with each other she's probably told him everything there is to know in as great detail as possible. 

“How do you know Coma, then? He doesn't look like a warboy.”

Slit laughs.

“Nah, wouldn't have made it. Would never agree to cut his hair.”

He downs the rest of his coffee, quiet for a moment before he continues.

“Coma's mum, she was a musician too. Fuckin' great one. Used to play one of the clubs warboys hung out at. Would bring Coma with her. Was my and Nux's age so we, uh, got to know him. Was brilliant, tried to teach us to play guitar. When we were kids we used to steal beers and get badly drunk and try to play in a back room. Good times. I threw up on his guitar once and it took him two months to forgive me.”

“Sounds about fair.”

“Yeah. Yeah, mostly.”

Slit squints at the sun, and the part of his smile that can fade does.

“What?”

He sighs.

“Just remembering what came after. Was less good.”

“Oh?”

“Mm. There was, I don't know, maybe calling it a gang war is makin' it sound more dramatic than it was but. But there was a shoot out, at that club, a day she was playin'. Got caught in the middle, I guess. Or maybe they targeted her. We were twelve thirteen, terrified. But Coma was right next to her when it happened and-”

He pauses, breathes deeply. Toast doesn't say anything, waits for him to continue. Wishes she had brought sunglasses for a variety of reasons.

“Had to drag him away from her, uh, her body, had to get away from the fighting. And. And he ended up with us after, 'cause there wasn't really anywhere else for him to go.”

“So he was a warboy?”

“Nah. Nah. He lived with us, hung around, played. That was all he did for a while, after. Don't blame him. Not a good place.”

Toast reminds herself to tell Dag to give Coma a hug from her at the next opportunity. Finds herself grasping Slit's hand on the table, because it doesn't sound like he's quite okay either. But that's fine, neither of them are, she can work with that. He gives her a careful smile and she decides that she is quite glad she accidentally made him take her home that night a few weeks ago.

"And, by the way, thought ya maybe ought to know, now that a third date is a thing that's happenin', me an' Coma used to, uh, be a thing."

Toast's eyes widen slightly.

"Years ago, many years ago," he hastens to assure her, "just mates now, promise!"

"Your idea of a good first date was literally bringing me to your ex's concert."

He has the decency to look embarrassed. 

"Well," begins.

"It was a date to see one of my best mates play awesome music too. And he an' Dag do seem to be pretty, uh, close already, so."

"All good, all good," she agrees.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello yes this was supposed to be a quick update but no. Also the next update was supposed to be for my other Toast/Slit thing but also no. Oops.  
> Thanks again to Valkyrien for being super supportive and letting me toss around some ideas and steal others.  
> Thanks to iOTA for being an inspiration and a good soundtrack and a ray of hope in this dark and dismal world.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by that time I spent about 16 hours on the sofa of a friend's boyfriend (Who I had never met before) being more hungover than I have ever been before or since.  
> I doodled the abovementioned photo and if you want to you can look at it [here](http://indiasierrabravo.tumblr.com/post/134372393237/look-if-im-gonna-practise-lighting-and-scenes-and)  
> There's gonna be more chapters but it might be disjointed


End file.
